


a friend, a foe

by aesphantasmal



Series: victorian au [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: I haven't slept and it's 10am, M/M, Masked ball, Other, but with no racism sexism or homophobia, just the aesthetics really, peter nureyev is a simp, they aren't together but yknow the Vibes, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23750578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesphantasmal/pseuds/aesphantasmal
Summary: Juno Steel, Private Detective, does not want to be at this masked ball. But money talks, and his client needs something from the house. Of course, it could be more interesting than he bargained for.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: victorian au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710925
Comments: 68
Kudos: 120





	a friend, a foe

**Author's Note:**

> I might take this down so I can actually proofread it lmao  
> this is the first fic in my Victorian au which I will write other fics for I promise

Juno Steel has, he supposes, spent too long interacting with the well-to-do in this part of town. Even with their faces covered by elaborate masks and frames hidden by the most extravagant of clothing, he could recognise a fair number of them, by what he could make out of their build and how they carried themselves and the cut of their clothes and how the sound of their voice carried across the room. Cecil Kanagawa appears to have multiple actual peacock feathers adorning his garish outfit. Julian DiMaggio made a noise that sounded somewhere between the noise coins make in a purse and the noise of a large number of small bells every time he moved. Juno was hardly unaware that his attempts to blend in were not going exactly to plan. He stuck out like a very scruffy, underfunded sore thumb, despite how hard he tried.

As people circled the middle of the room in a dance of moderate speed, he realised the only way to disappear into the crowd would be to follow suit.

He moved from partner to partner, never staying with one person too long lest they recognise him (although he rather imagined himself to be beneath their notice, other than as a dancer of acceptable standard). Dancing was easier than talking to these people, at least when he was at an event such as this where he could be thrown out for excessive rudeness. Nothing of particular interest happened until he was dancing with a middle-aged woman who's wife, if he remembered correctly, owned some kind of factory. She was gaudily dressed, covered in gold and jewels that most likely cost more than Juno's house. As they were spinning, someone from another pair collided with them.

"Oh — I am so dreadfully sorry — I have two left feet, I swear —" The man was tall, slender, with dark hair, and a perfectly tailored suit, a black mask with silver details obscuring much of his face.

"It's quite alright," the woman said as the man apologised, his hands and voice shaking. "No harm done."

As the man and woman both smoothed out their clothes, the orchestra played the last few notes of the song, and began another, considerably slower. Juno turned to the man who had collided with them and offered a hand. He hesitated for a moment. "Are you quite sure? I do apologise for —" Juno took his half-outstretched hand and began to slowly spin, standing closer together than was perhaps strictly necessary.

"I was under the impression that you were in Paris," Juno hissed.

"Oh, hello, Juno," he said, voice barely above a whisper and hardly audible over the orchestra. He smiled, showing sharp teeth. "I  _ was _ in Paris."

"And now you're not."

"I had to leave Paris quickly, I'm afraid, and I am only here briefly, I'm afraid. I would have informed you of my arrival were I here for more than a few days."

"You could have written."

"I probably would have arrived in London before the letter did."

Juno found, to his annoyance, that he could not fashion a counterargument. It clearly showed on his face. He heard a quiet laugh from above him where Nureyev's head almost came to rest on top of his, and, with some difficulty, resisted the urge to elbow the man in the chest.

"Anyway, with whom do I have the  _ pleasure  _ —" he attempted to inject as much sarcasm into the word as he could manage — "of dancing with this evening?"

"Augustus Kane. Inheritor of some great fortune from some distant relative."

"And what might Mr. Kane be doing here?"

"Seeking some fine wine, fine dancing and fine company. A successful endeavour, I believe."

Juno stood up on his tiptoes, attempting to be as close to his ear as possible before whispering "And what might Peter Nureyev be doing here?"

Nureyev smiled his sharp smile as Juno drew back, conscious of how close they were, how this would appear to an onlooker. "I believe you already know the answer to that, detective." Then, quieter and closer to Juno's ear: "Are you going to try and stop me?"

"I have a job to do."

"Oh?"

"The host — Mx Godwin — may be in possession of some papers relevant to my client's inheritance. Them and my client's father worked together for many years but I think the client fell out with Godwin and the client thinks — Ugh, it doesn't really matter all that much."

"So you intend to break into their office?" Nureyev said, amusement in his tone.

"Be careful what you say,  _ Mr. Kane. _ "

"Yes, of course." Nureyev's eyes swept the people around them, reassuring himself that nobody was eavesdropping on their whispered conversation. "If you wish, Juno, I could assist you in your search."

Juno paused, contemplating his options. He could easily refuse, so long as Nureyev didn't cause a scene or inform Godwin of what Juno intended to do. And it was hardly in his interests to do so, given that, even if Juno had not actually seen him slip anything into the many pockets he knows he has, he knew trinkets taken from at least half the guests must be somewhere in there.

"What's in it for you?" Juno asked.

"Do you not believe anyone would do something if not for their own benefit?"

"Not anyone. You, specifically."

"I'm affronted, detective. But if there has to be something in it for me, well, I do not consider any time spent in your company to be time wasted, and a face like yours is far too pretty to waste away in jail if this goes drastically wrong."

"I'm not a complete incompetent."

"Of course you aren't. Do you think I'd allow myself to be caught by a complete incompetent?" Before Juno could open his mouth to argue that Nureyev had not  _ allowed _ him to do anything, he continued "It is simply that — well, I  _ am _ a professional."

"Allow me to make it perfectly clear, Nureyev," Juno hissed as threateningly as he could manage, "if you intend to use me to achieve whatever your aim is, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Nureyev asked, the smirk evident in his voice. 

"Given the information I have on you, you're awfully cocky."

"You wouldn't!" he said, with an affronted gasp.

"Push me and we'll find out where my limits lie, Nureyev."

"I have no intention of doing any such thing, detective, I assure you. Meet me by the dark wooden door in half an hour," he said, then with a flourish, twirled Juno and vanished back into the crowd.

Juno spent the next half hour making every effort possible to avoid anybody with whom he was acquainted. It was easier than it would have been under normal circumstances, given the mask. Only Cassandra Kanagawa noticed him, and she seemed far too concerned with having someone entertaining to talk to to bother inquiring into what he was doing there. After what he assumed was around half an hour (his pocketwatch had been damaged in the course of his last investigation, and he had yet to find the opportunity to request that Rita fixes it) he found his way over to the door Nureyev had indicated as a meeting place. After he had been waiting for a few minutes, idly watching the milling crowd at the food table, he heard the sound of smashing glass, then a shriek. As quickly as he could without drawing attention, he made his way over, straining his neck to see what the cause of the racket was.

Two guests were standing by a table. One's white dress and the white tablecloth were stained with what Juno, for a heart-stopping second, was blood, until he saw the broken wine glass in the other's hand. The host pushed the crowd aside. They were shouting to their servants, trying to get people to move away from the broken glass, and trying to calm down the person in white all at once. Juno tried to press a little closer as the crowd parted to let the servants past then clo sed in again, until he felt slender fingers close around his elbow.

"Now is our best opportunity, Detective," Nureyev said quietly. Juno let himself be pulled away from the scene. Nureyev let go of him once they were through the door, in the darkened corridor beyond. "Hopefully that should keep everyone occupied long enough for us to get in and out," Nureyev said, removing his mask. Juno followed suit.

"So that was your fault, then?"

"Oh please. They can afford to replace a tablecloth or a dress."

"I know. I just… Oh, never mind."

"Alright. If you say so. This is, as far as I could tell, the fastest method of reaching the office. Should I lead the way or give directions?"

"Too quiet. Directions might carry too far, attract attention."

"Yes, I thought so, detective, I was simply offering you the option in the hopes that you might feel more comfortable with this situation."

"Just show me to the office, Nureyev."

They made their way to the office fairly swiftly, and Nureyev unlocked the door with no difficulty.

The office was fairly small and tidy. A mahogany desk that almost looked comically large given the size of the room occupied most of the space, with bookshelves covering one wall and a large painting on another.

"Anything I can do to assist in your search?"

"I'm looking for an accounts book. My client said it was about this big —" Juno indicated the size with his hands — "and bound in leather." Juno walked over to the desk, and began opening the drawers. "My client already searched Mx Godwin's office at their workplace. They aren't supposed to have the accounts book, so it stands to reason that they would keep it somewhere less accessible."

"Fascinating."

"It puts food on the table. Any luck?"

"Lots of papers, nothing I'd describe as a book. Oh — no, that's just an address book."

"People really aren't careful enough with their address books. There are few things more incriminating than what company you choose to keep."

"Why do I feel as if that's directed at me?"

"I wasn't aware I had a choice about associating with you."

"Is being rude part of your strategy to get me to leave you alone?"

"Is it working?"

"You wound me, Juno. No, I don't think it's in here."

"Doesn't seem to be in here, either." Juno opened all the drawers, rechecking each one and putting the papers back neatly, while Nureyev pulled books off of the bookshelves that seemed as if they vaguely fit the description.

"I don't think Mx Godwin is much of a reader," Nureyev said.

"Lot of books for someone who's not much of a reader."

"They're all of the sort that one purchases to make oneself seem well read and educated, even if you've never read them. Almost all of these are in as good condition as the day they were printed, save a bit of dust." Nureyev ran a finger along one of the shelves, then pulled a face. "A lot of dust."

"Hmm. Well, it's not in the desk," Juno announced with frustration, closing the drawers with a slam, then freezing as he remembered their current situation. Nureyev vanished in the blink of an eye, and Juno to under the desk, until they convinced themselves nobody was coming and re-emerged. Juno started pacing the room, examining at every inch of wall and floor and furniture.

"I haven't checked all the books, but none of these look as if they've seen enough use to be an account book,"Nureyev said.

"Yeah." 

"It may simply be at their work office as opposed to at home."

"Maybe," Juno said, clearly barely listening.

"Penny for your thoughts, detective?"

"The painting."

"It's really quite an ugly thing. Maybe you and Mx Godwin have something in common after all."

"No, not  _ that, _ Nureyev." Juno raised a hand to the painting and tapped it with a knuckle, then waited for a sound.

" _ Oh _ ? You think the account book is —"

"Sure, it's no gold and gems, but it's worth a lot in the right hands." Juno moved his hand slowly along the painting, tapping periodically and listening to the resulting sound. "Worth hiding a bit more creatively, perhaps."

"Hmm. I suppose I overlooked it. If I'd been looking for a secret safe, I'd have assumed the bookcase was a better candidate. Harder to move. Or, really, anywhere in the house besides the office."

"The floor in front of the bookcases would be scratched if they were moved regularly, and there's some scuff marks on the wall. Also, you were already thinking about the bookcase.  _ Aha— _ " he said, as a quiet noise of metal hitting metal sounded out following another tap. He lifted the painting carefully to reveal a safe door covered in the same wallpaper as the rest of the wall, but with an obvious opening cut into it. Nureyev slipped under the painting as Juno held it up, and emerged a minute later with a large, leather bound book, which he presented to Juno with a sharp smile. Juno took it and flicked through it.

"I believe this should have what my client needs."

"How are you going to leave here with something of that size? You don't appear to have come prepared to jump from any windows," he said, commenting on the large skirt of Juno's dress, with which he was currently fiddling.

"Rita made a few adjustments," Juno said, and a second later, the book had entirely disappeared into his skirts. He held part of the skirt aside, and briefly showed Nureyev the large pocket sewn into his dress.

"Interesting. You'd make good thieves," Nureyev said.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"I'm… not going to dignify that with a response." He adjusted the picture as Juno ensured the desk looked as it had when they entered. "Let's return before anyone takes note of our disappearance."

They made it back into the ball easily enough, slipping their masks back on before slipping back in to a party that appeared to have mostly returned to its calmer state before the wine spillage, though Juno could see the glass still being swept up.

"Would you care for another dance, Detective?"

Juno freezes for a fleeting moment. He knows — or at least thinks he knows, it can be somewhat difficult to ascertain when it comes to Nureyev — what exactly it is that Nureyev is asking. 

Juno could not say with any certainty what Nureyev is to him. A friend, maybe, although one he is not sure if he trusts. Sometimes, Nureyev implies something, suggests that he believes there could be something more between them, more by actions than by words. The part of Juno's mind ruled by logic and reason recoils at all the things that could go wrong, at the possibilities of why a man like Nureyev might want a lady like him. His heart and his gut wanted to trust Nureyev, to throw himself into the thief's arms, reputation, pride, propriety and consequences all be damned.

Cautiously, like an art collector reaching for the most precious of pieces, or perhaps a man reaching for a rare, exotic kind of venomous snake, he takes Nureyev's hand.

"Can't hurt," he says, and Nureyev smiles.

This song is faster than the one they danced to before. Nureyev spins Juno back and forth, and between his own skirt and Nureyev's long legs and heels, Juno is very glad that they both know how to dance.

He cannot read Nureyev's face under the mask. When they were talking he could discern the thief's state of mind from his tone of voice or from his body language, but as they dance, there is only the way Nureyev holds onto him. Of course, authenticity is a difficult thing to get from Nureyev, and Juno is only slowly learning bit by bit what is genuine and what is constructed. And this feels genuine, like Nureyev is trying to convey some true feeling, but Juno isn't sure he can put his faith the instincts that tell him that. Not around Nureyev, who his instincts tell him to make a fool of himself for.

After far too long and far too quickly, the dance is over, and Juno makes his excuses and leaves. Nureyev leaves with him, but almost immediately turns to head in the opposite direction.

"Well, Detective, I have other matters to attend to while I'm in town. I am very to cut my time with you short. I'll write."

"What's the point in writing if I can't write back?"

"My own amusement, mostly," Nureyev said, but Juno could tell it was not the truth, or at least not all of it. "Though if I do find myself with my next alias and residence planned out ahead of time such that you may be able to send mail, I'll inform you, though I will most likely be back before that happens." Nureyev pulled out a pocketwatch that most definitely was not his. "My apologies, my dear detective, but I really must take my leave." He bowed a touch too dramatically for the situation at hand, turned a corner and vanished, leaving Juno to finish his walk home. As soon as he got in, he wrestled his dress off, and flopped into his bed, staying in the position he had fallen in until sleep took him.

He was roused the next morning by a chill, a breeze and the noises of the city starting to move, all coming from the open window. The open window which, unless he was forgetting something, had very much been closed when he went to sleep.

For a second, he looked around wildly and stayed completely silent, seeking any sign of the intruder. He reached for his pistol in his bedside table drawer. As he fumbled for the handle, he felt something soft under his hand on top of the table. He looked at it. There was a small bundle of flowers and a sealed letter on the bedside table, and instantly he knew what had happened. As he came more to his senses, he realised his room was cold because the window had been open for a while. He sighed a sigh he would never admit was partly out of fondness, and examined what Nureyev had left.

The flowers — chrysanthemums, Juno thinks, some red, some white — are pretty, and Juno imagines it took some effort to get them up to his window undamaged. He should probably buy a vase for them. Or see if Rita has one. But then Rita may ask questions Juno would prefer went unasked about who is giving Juno flowers.

The letter is of more interest to Juno. He opens the seal somewhat clumsily, almost tearing the paper in the process. As he opened the letter, he saw Nureyev's now familiar scrawl. It evoked the careful, elegant, almost artistic script of somebody with far more time on their hands, rendered halfway illegible by the speed at which Nureyev felt the need to get his thoughts onto the page, although Juno had become skilled at decoding the scribbles.

_ My dearest, Juno, _

_ I apologize for the method of delivery of this letter, and the abruptness of my farewell last night. I have to be at my next destination in a sufficiently short span of time that I cannot afford to stay for longer than I have. I wish you luck in your case, and please, stay safe. As I said, next time I find myself on the way to London, I will make my best effort to inform you ahead of time. _

_ Yours, _

_ You know who I am. _

Juno sighed and shook his head at the thief's ridiculousness. If he did get the opportunity to write, he'd ask why he couldn't have put the letter under his front door. As it was, he took out the collection of Nureyev's letters, tied together with some nice ribbon Nureyev had sent him from Florence once. He wasn't sure why Nureyev had started writing to him — he suspected it was simply a matter of not wanting to make up a reason why another alias was swanning around Europe — but he couldn't truthfully say he doesn't appreciate it.

He closes the window and lies back down to sleep, and when he does, his dreams are full of masks and flowers and sharpened smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> do YOU want more fanfic content from authors? do YOU want to see more things like this?
> 
> fuckim comment I do this for free and it takes days 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪


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